


Give it a Year

by nobleanchor



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobleanchor/pseuds/nobleanchor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timing is everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely inspired by a cheesy film. I blame Netflix and whatever shoddy algorithm they use for recommendations.

"There's something sickly sweet about two blond people dating each other, don't you think?"

"It is mildly nauseating," Gwaine agrees.

Gwen snorts and takes another sip of her beer. The tide of golden liquid drowns the couple in question from view, but she squeezes her eyes shut anyway.

It doesn't work. She can still see Arthur's arm wrapped around Vivian; they're smiling at each other in adoration and he places a tender kiss on her forehead.

_How could this have happened?_

The seven months Gwen spent volunteering overseas had given her the perspective she needed. She'd been all but ready to come clean about her feelings for one of her best friends, only for their reunion to be co-opted by some kind of meet-and-greet for his new girlfriend.

The universe, it seems, is having a laugh.

"It's just the honeymoon phase, Freckles."

"Hmm?" She pulls the pint glass from her lips too quickly and has to swipe her hand over her mouth to catch a few dribbles.

"Chin up," Gwaine thumps her on the back as she swallows. "I give it a year."

Gwen gives him a double take, her eyes widening. _That long?_

He splits a grin and takes a swig of his beer before donning his leather jacket. "Come on, I'll take you home."

_A year_ , she thinks.

A year is an awfully long time.

**⚓**

It doesn't take long for Gwen to run out of excuses.

If Arthur isn't constantly inviting her to dinner parties and mini-holidays with all of their paired off friends, then Vivian is pouting and telling her she simply _must_ come along.

"I hear there will be loads of hot men!" she beams conspiratorially, and Gwen resists the urge to roll her eyes. Vivian is still new to their circle of friends, and she doesn't seem to understand Gwen yet, though not for lack of trying.

"No kidding," Gwen tries and fails to sound enthusiastic.

But it's Arthur, pinching her side with friendly affection, that does her in. "Come on Guinevere, have some fun with us."

She's captured in one of his dazzling smiles, and not for the first time she fools herself that it's just for her.

"Alright then," she says, putting some bravado into it. "But I'm gonna need a fair lineup of at least ten firemen to choose from."

They laugh, Vivian clinging to Arthur, both of their eyes sparkling.

**⚓**

It _is_ fun, playing volleyball in the pool with her mates; eating nachos and drinking beer over a game of poker; marathoning Star Wars films until half of them have fallen asleep.

That is, until she catches how they whisper inside jokes to each other in passing; how he tucks her hair behind her ear and nuzzles Vivian's perfect button of a nose; how she occasionally slips the phrase ' _My Arthur'_ into a conversation and can't resist casting a proud smile in his direction.

Gwen doesn't blame her, not really.

If Arthur were hers...

But he isn't.

So she tries her very best to have fun with them. She keeps her heart light and ignores the burning lump in her gut.

"So what do you reckon, Greedo or Han?"

Gwen startles as Arthur's voice whispers next to her. His warm breath puffs against her ear, raising goosebumps down her neck.

He's slipped between Gwen and a sleeping Merlin on the floor, and she glances over to see Vivian and Freya sleeping with their heads together like perfect angels on the couch.

She pretends to be offended as she side-eyes him. "I'm insulted by the very question."

Arthur chuckles. "Should have known. You've always had a thing for Han. I can't trust you not to be biased."

Gwen swats his leg. "I think you'll find _you've_ had a thing for Han for just as long, if not longer."

Arthur's expression sombers. "It's true, I think it's the hair and the vest. Don't tell Viv- _Ow!_ Will you stop that?"

She laughs as he kicks at her small feet and she kicks back.

Soon they're fairly jabbing and tickling each other until Merlin groans in protest when he gets knocked by Arthur's elbow.

They giggle, covering their mouths and staring at each other.

Two bottles appear in their line of sight and they both take them, unquestioning. Gwaine hovers over them with a wry smile.

"Billiards, anyone?"

"Yeah, I'll take you," Gwen replies, then looks to Arthur.

He's smiling but it fades, and he glances over at his girlfriend's sleeping form. "Nah, you two go ahead."

Gwen gives him a small pout and he pokes her in return. "You're much better than I am. Go on, beat that Irish bastard."

She giggles and Gwaine tugs her up to join him.

**⚓**

Gwen is laying in the sun next to Freya, who's nervously mumbling about skin cancer while she rummages in her bag for her oversized tube of sunblock.

"Alright girls? Coming for a swim?" Merlin's head rests on his arms at the edge of the pool.

"My sunburn will be even worse if I go in there!" Freya laughs nervously.

"Ah, but your pasty white boyfriend is doing just fine," he grins at her.

Before Freya can respond, Merlin's completely hammered by a splash of water from Arthur's direction.

"You arse!" he shouts, laughing as he kicks away from the ledge to exact revenge.

Vivian squeals and Gwen tilts her head to see Gwaine holding her high in the air, threatening to throw her in as she begs him not to.

He casts her in without mercy and the men laugh. Catching Gwen's eye, Gwaine flexes for her with a wink.

She chuckles and tilts her sunglasses down, pretending to check him out. Secretly, she _is_ sort of checking him out.

It's kind of hard not to.

But he's Gwaine.

**⚓**

Later, they all make dinner together.

Arthur and Vivian start stir-frying something over the stove while Merlin and Freya chop up the vegetables. Gwaine's sitting with his feet up at the table and a beer in his hand, as ever.

Gwen's been put on salad duty, and she takes the job seriously. She swats Arthur's hand away when he reaches over her shoulder to pick at the salad.

He just laughs and persists, and she tries to tell him that there won't be any left but she can't keep herself from laughing at his continued attempts.

The meal is delicious, but Gwen can't finish because she's seated across from the golden couple, who are feeding each other.

Merlin and Freya are having a debate about something esoteric, but from what Gwen can tell they seem to be agreeing.

Gwaine kicks her foot and when she makes eye contact with him he's rolling his eyes. She manages a weak smile and looks at her plate, pushing the remaining food around.

They all decide to turn in early, since they've stayed up a few nights in a row. Gwen thinks she'll channel surf for a while yet, saying goodnight to Arthur and Vivian as they retreat to their bedroom, hands linked, door shutting firmly behind them.

She stares blankly at the television and her thoughts taunt her; make her restless. She gets a glass of water from the kitchen, and as she leans against the counter she sees a flicker of warm light in the distance through the patio door.

Setting the glass down, she grabs a half-empty six pack out of the fridge, and sets out toward the small beacon.

It's dark, and the sky is nearly cloudless. She can't see stars like this at home; not with all the light pollution.

The ocean's waves are drawing and sighing against the shore, and she plods barefoot through the sand to join Gwaine and his pathetic fire.

"You did it wrong," she says after she settles next to him, and she takes a small piece of driftwood to poke the logs into a more effective formation.

He just huffs a laugh and watches the fire grow healthier. "Show off."

She raises a bottle to him in a toast before taking a sip.

They watch the fire in silence, entranced by the patternless dance of the flames.

It's a good silence.

She feels good with Gwaine. Uncomplicated.

"How're you doing, Kid?" he drawls after a while.

She just frowns and tilts her head from side to side. "Been better, but can't complain much."

His arm locks around her head and pulls her against his chest, and he drops a kiss onto her messy curls. They stay like that for a while, letting the warmth of the fire and the sighs of the ocean wash them in comfort.

"It used to bug me too," he says, and she's not sure if she's heard him right over the waves. "But at some point I decided not to let it."

She sits up to look at him, but he's still looking at the fire.

Her heart sinks when she sees his expression. He's not jovial like always; his eyes don't twinkle, except for with firelight, and the corners of his mouth are turned down slightly.

She sees hurt there, and her expression softens as she realizes that she's not the only one who's having a hard time.

Reaching over slowly, she tilts his face toward her, his short beard rough against her hand.

She sees it now as his eyes meet hers, and she wonders how he hides it so well.

Leaning forward, she presses her mouth to his experimentally. He freezes for a moment, but then his hand comes up and he threads his fingers in her hair.

Their mouths open to each other easily to deepen the kiss.

Gwen isn't sure what she feels in that moment, but for once she is not thinking about Arthur.

As Gwaine's grip tightens on her waist, she thinks maybe he's not thinking about Vivian.

**⚓**

She wakes suddenly, frowning as the details of the dream she was having fade rapidly into vague impressions.

Someone's snoring next to her and she feels a weight over her waist.

It's Gwaine's arm. She looks down to confirm that they're both still dressed in the previous night's clothes.

Her first instinct is to wiggle out from beneath him and crawl away in shame, but as the seconds pass she is running out of reasons why she should.

Instead she lays her head back down and lets herself relax against him, finding the warmth of his hardened body next to her comforting.

She sinks back into sleep, but it is dreamless.

It's his shifting beside her that wakes her again some time later. They exchange a look but there is no awkwardness, just understanding.

Gwen thinks perhaps she never knew Gwaine before.

They crawl out of bed slowly and straighten their clothes, Gwen grabbing a few items to take with her to the shower.

When they exit the bedroom they find everyone awake and busy making breakfast. Merlin is at the table eating cereal, while Arthur and Vivian are in the kitchen making a fry up.

It gets quiet when they enter, and Gwen realizes she's holding Gwaine's hand. She feels three pairs of eyes fixed on her.

Her eyes flit to the only ones that matter.

Arthur's expression is unreadable apart from the smallest pout of his lips, but she meets his gaze, her own lips parting.

There's a light squeeze of her hand, and a flutter of movement draws her attention to Vivian, who is hanging on Arthur's shoulder with her eyes glued to Gwen and Gwaine's joined hands, her face lit up in a victorious grin.

Then Gwen hears the clink of Merlin's spoon against his bowl and the spell is broken. Everyone continues what they were doing, and Gwen tugs her hand gently away from Gwaine to go to the shower.

They exchange secret smiles as they part ways.

The bathroom door opens abruptly just as she places her hand on the knob, and Freya emerges wearing a towel and carrying a bundle of clothing. She gives Gwen an apologetic smile for surprising her and sneaks off to her and Merlin's bedroom, wet hair sticking to her back.

Gwen closes the door behind her with a sigh. She can't decide if she's relieved or scared or completely insane.

She strips off her clothes quickly and steps into the shower, turning the temperature as hot as she can handle.

As she lets the water stream over her head and down her body, she recalls Arthur's face in the kitchen, like a snapshot in her mind.

The lump in her gut feels a tiny bit lighter.


	2. Chapter 2

Gwen has been seeing Gwaine for four months now, and she likes to think things have gotten easier.

They endure light teasing from their friends, but Gwaine's really good at dishing it back out, so after a while they shut up.

They share the same shampoo, and she's delighted to learn he's capable of using a coaster.

She finds that they make, if not a perfect pair, then a good one at least. And she's slightly chagrined to discover he is good in bed.

But Gwaine no longer brags about it, now that he's with her.

**⚓**

It's when Morgana comes back to town that Gwen receives a visit from a nervous looking Arthur at work.

When she asks what he's doing there, he's flustered as he asks her for a favor.

Forty-five minutes later, Gwen's stretching helplessly to reach the zipper that's jammed at her back.

She can sense Arthur's impatience as he hovers beyond the curtain divider, asking if she's finished yet.

"You don't know how much of a pain in the arse this thing is," she says, trying a different tactic. She can almost reach it but she doesn't have the leverage.

"Damnit," she mutters.

The curtain ripples and Arthur stumbles into the small booth. She takes a quick step back to avoid being knocked over as he replaces the curtain behind him.

She has to press the loose bodice of the strapless dress to her chest to keep it from falling.

"What are you—God, you're impatient! I told you I'm almost—" her words are cut off when Arthur covers her mouth with his hand and pushes her back to the wall to keep her still.

His pulse beats frantically in his neck, and she can smell his aftershave. He smells like Arthur and it's entirely too pleasant.

He brings a finger to his lips to silence her as if she hasn't got the idea already, and her brows draw together in irritation.

When he cocks his head toward the curtain, she hears it.

"...many do you have?"

"Too many, I'm sure," comes a familiar dark laugh.

"No worries. You can bring six in with you and I'll hang the rest up right here," says the fitting room attendant.

Gwen's eyes dart to the space between the bottom of the curtain and the floor, and she sees a pair of killer heels saunter past.

It's definitely her. She pries Arthur's hand off her mouth.

"Great timing, genius," she whispers.

"I didn't know she'd be coming here!" he says, and Gwen rolls her eyes.

"Well since you're in here, can you help me with this?" she turns her back to show him where the zipper's stuck.

There's a marked pause before Arthur's warm fingers tug gently at the zipper.

When it's done, he stills behind her and they survey the dress in the mirror.

They're silent until Gwen says, "It's way too long on me, anyway."

He doesn't comment, except to say, "You always traded clothes with Morgana."

"In college, maybe. And that was mostly t-shirts and mini dresses. She's much taller and skinnier than me."

"She's not—you're just curvier," he argues, and then looks away quickly as Gwen raises an eyebrow. She debates commenting on how Morgana's breasts won't fill the bodice the same way hers do just to make him uncomfortable, but decides to spare him the embarrassment.

Gwen sighs. "Okay, can you unzip me then?"

She feels his fingers at her back again. His knuckles graze the bare skin, slipping down her vertebrae, and she can't restrain a shiver. She's trying very hard not to be so aware of Arthur in that way, but sometimes he makes it impossible. Like now, for instance.

His eyes lift to meet hers in the mirror and he hasn't moved his hands away.

Gwen forgets how to breathe.

"Excuse me sir." They both jump, Arthur's hands falling away from her at the attendant's voice on the other side of the curtain. "You can't be in there. I'm going to have to ask you to come out."

Gwen's free hand flies to her mouth to stifle a giggle as Arthur fumbles, poking his head out of the curtain to make sure the coast is clear.

When he dashes out of the booth, she assumes it is. She pulls the dress off with moderate difficulty and lets it pool at her feet, changing back into her t-shirt and jeans.

She gathers her purse and checks her phone, seeing a message from Gwaine.

_How's it going Sweetcheeks?_

She smiles and rolls her eyes.  _Eventful. I think Arthur might be banned from the store_ , she texts back.

Returning a few garments, she exits the fitting room to find Arthur trying on women's sunglasses.

She opens her mouth to speak and then just shakes her head as her phone blips again.

_Wouldn't be the first time. Ruddy pervert._

She chuckles and Arthur gives her a quizzical look.

"Come on," Gwen takes him by the arm. "Let's get out of here before she sees us."

**⚓**

"I don't know why you're so set on getting her a dress," Gwen says as she stirs her coffee.

"Because I really want to surprise her with something she'll like for once," he sighs as she fills his cup with hot water from the kettle. "Ta."

"Why don't you have Viv pick one out? She's probably got a much better eye than I do."

"True," he says, earning himself a kick under the table. Arthur smirks. "But she doesn't know Morgana like you do. She'd probably pick out something  _she_  wants and you know what she's like when she sets her mind to something."

"That I do," Gwen agrees, thankful she's no longer a candidate for Vivian's  _legendary_  matchmaking. "You know, Morgana doesn't really care what you give her."

"Gee, thanks Gwen."

"That's not what I—what I'm trying to say is you're her brother. She loves you no matter what, and she'll love whatever you give her, no matter what."

He's studying his tea, blonde strands falling into his eyes. "I'm not sure that's entirely true, but I guess...maybe the dress idea was a bust."

She smiles. "It was sweet, but it could be hit or miss. Morgana knows what works for her body. Why don't you take her out to dinner or something? Just the two of you?"

"That's actually not a half-bad idea," he lifts his head, considering. Then he clears his throat. "Hey, speaking of dinner, do you—?"

"Hey Babe," Gwaine's voice calls as he slams the door behind him.

"I told him not to slam the bloody—" Gwen mutters through her teeth as she shakes her head, then perks up. "Hiya, we're in the kitchen!"

Gwaine appears in the doorway with a smile, dropping his overnight bag and leaning to wrap his arms around Gwen from behind. They greet each other with a kiss and then Gwaine's raiding the fridge for something edible.

"I should probably go," Arthur says.

"Find anything for the she-devil?" Gwaine asks before taking a bite out of an apple.

"Unfortunately no, but I think this one's given me a good idea," Arthur replies, gesturing to Gwen.

"Ah, she's full of those, isn't she?" Gwaine grins, closing the fridge. "Bad ones, too," he says suggestively, stooping to nip at her ear as he passes by.

She laughs and swats him away and he returns to his apple.

Arthur's mouth quirks into a half-smile and he stands to deal with his cup, placing it in the sink. "I really should go. See you guys at quiz night?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Gwen says, sipping at her coffee.

She doesn't see Arthur's smile fall as he leaves the kitchen and shows himself out.


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out, to no one's surprise, that Arthur underestimated his sister's fashion sense.

The gown she's chosen for her and Uther's shared birthday ball is a show-stopping one, designed to make sure everyone knows whose party it really is, and Gwen gapes as she watches her friend shift before the mirror, admiring the fit.

"Well, if anyone can get away with that dress, I suppose it's you," Gwen admits.

Morgana's red lips smirk in the reflection. "I invited my ex. You know how it goes, I've got to make her jealous. Anyway, you could pull it off if you had the guts."

Gwen flicks her eyes toward the ceiling, unwilling to take the bait. "Too bad I don't."

"Gwen!" Her pout rivals her brother's. "Come on, it's a big deal! Everyone's going to be there. When else do you get to dress up like this?"

It's not the dressing up that worries her, but the fitting in. Years have done little to desensitize her to the Pendragons' expensive tastes, and she's always dubious of being dragged in.

"Trust me. I'll make it worth it," she persists. "Please? It'll be your gift to me."

"I reserve the right to veto anything," Gwen finally agrees.

And that's how she ends up in the most absurdly showy dress she could ever have imagined herself in. It's vintage, covered in silver sequins that glitter with every movement, and best of all (in Morgana's opinion) it clings to her body like it's been painted on.

She almost vetoes it right off of the hanger until Morgana bets her a tenner she's too chicken to try it on.

"Oh my God, this was made for you Gwen. You look classic!"

When she catches herself in the mirror she's a little mesmerized at how it transforms her and lends her a confidence and sensuality she usually keeps buried.

She bites her lip and forgets Morgana's talking because all she can think about is the one person she wants to see her wearing it.

"Yup, I think he'll definitely like it," Morgana says with a heavy note of suggestion, making Gwen blanche. "You're gonna have to make sure he matches you, though. Gwaine can be ridiculously stubborn about flouting dress codes. Remember what he wore to your brother's wedding last year?"

"Don't remind me," Gwen masks the wave of relief with another roll of her eyes.

**⚓**

She's been promised she's not overdressed, but nonetheless she's stunned to find that it's true.

Her hair has been pinned into a vintage up-do with finger wave curls to match the dress, and Morgana insists on her signature deep red lipstick to finish it off.

But Gwen forgets she's in the company of Pendragon family friends, acquaintances, and business connections. She's not under dressed by any means; there are plenty of other women who have gone all out.

There's an actual band playing actual ballroom music, and people are actually dancing.

Gwaine is visibly floored by her outfit and shows his appreciation by keeping her close. She knows they'll have fun together, and when they arrive they make straight for the open bar for the expensive champagne.

Per expectation, Merlin and Freya are right on time, and Vivian and Arthur arrive fashionably late. Vivian looks immaculate in a floor length deep blue gown with a small tiara tucked into her hair, but Gwen's eyes are drawn to how the matching tie Arthur's wearing makes his eyes stand out gorgeously.

He smiles when he sees her, and she catches the moment when his gaze slides down to take her in, and it's enough, she hopes. Enough to tide over, for now, the deep longing she's been stamping down.

She greets him with a kiss on the cheek and laughs at the smudge of lipstick. Then he leans down so she can wipe it off and it's as if it's just the two of them again, the heat of his gaze on her making her knees weak as she manages to clean it off.

That night she dances with Merlin and Gwaine, and even a well-lubricated Uther.

And later, though her feet are throbbing and her back aches and she's reapplied her lipstick more times than she can count, she dances with Arthur. The pain and weariness and happy exhaustion become secondary to the comfort and thrill of swaying in her friend's arms.

There is nothing surprising about his formal dancing ability, considering the family he comes from. She'd danced with him at Elyan's wedding, after all, when things had been simpler.

But the look in his eyes and the careful guidance of his hands and the soft almost-kiss he brushes against her hair nearly makes her forget where she is. One broad hand is splayed just above her tailbone, the rough texture of her dress causing it alternately to slip and stay. He lifts it higher to the narrow of her waist, an errant thumb grazing where the exposed skin of her back begins. She rests her cheek on his shoulder, her eyelids heavy as she gazes across the dance floor to where Gwaine is.

He's dancing with Vivian in small circles, grinning down at her. The blonde laughs at something he's said, her sleek, glove-clad hand resting on his arm.

Gwen's eyelids flutter closed and she wishes the music will never end. Perhaps she's imagining the warmth of Arthur's breath near her ear, but as unfailing as the steady thump of his heartbeat, it raises goosebumps all the way down her bare neck and shoulder. The air seems to shift and she can almost hear him deciding to say something.

He whispers her name, so softly that she fears she's misheard, except that his lips graze her ear as he says it.

As the moments pass she smiles against his shoulder, basking in the feeling until she feels the air shift again and it's slightly colder.

He's pulled back, and too soon the song ends and people are shuffling around the dance floor as chatter floods the room again.

She lifts her head to see that Arthur's gaze is far away, and there's barely a second when their eyes meet before someone bumps her and she grasps at Arthur's arm to keep her balance. It takes him a second to realize what's happening but then he's got a firm grip on her, the awkward tussle having plastered her against him.

"Oh, shit," she mutters, her thoughts beginning to clear. They both look where her hand is fisted in his coat, a noticeable tear at the seam. "Arthur, I'm so—" she snorts a laugh at his pretend anger and then they're both laughing. "I'll fix it, I promise!"

"It's alright," he chuckles, maneuvering her upright, his eyes twinkling with fondness. She bites her lip to hold back a giggle and she can't believe herself as she looks up at him through her eyelashes. His smile fades but it's still in his eyes when their friends surround them, laughing and shouting to each other over the crowd.

Arthur's hands slip away from her as they're shepherded back to the bar for one last drink before everyone decides to call it a night.

Morgana has more than a few words to say about that. She wanders the room making loud complaints, disappearing into the entrance hall as everyone covertly sorts out their cabs.

Merlin is carrying a slumberous Freya piggy back style, his bowtie and the top buttons of his shirt undone and the front of his hair sticking up with sweat. Despite the general clamor, he practically whispers his goodbyes as his girlfriend's dark head lolls against his shoulder. Readjusting his hold with a look of careful concentration, his narrow lips stretch into an affectionate smile before he turns to brave the grand staircase outside where their ride is waiting.

The crowd continues to thin as the remaining guests divide themselves among the hazy whisky-and-cigar following where Uther is surprisingly still entertaining, and a younger throng that's ready to relocate to a nearby club.

Vivian appears to be of the latter persuasion. She hangs on Arthur's neck, tugging as she insists that they stay out with the others. He looks less than enthused at the proposition, unlatching her hands to mutter something to her under his breath. Gwen decides to give them some privacy, sneaking off to the toilets.

A few minutes later Gwaine meets her outside the toilets with her coat to report he's discovered the birthday girl snogging Morgause on the settee by the coat check.

"So much for making her jealous," Gwen snorts.

Deciding it's not worth it to battle against the crowd to get back into the ballroom, they wave in Arthur and Vivian's general direction, but the couple is too engaged in their own conversation to notice.

Somehow, they manage to sneak out without attracting Morgana's attention.

Gwaine is remarkably gentlemanly about helping her out of her dress that night.


	4. Chapter 4

Gwen knocks on the door once more before leaning to peer in the window.

Deciding he must not be home, she lifts the letter box cover and considers stuffing Arthur's suit jacket through the narrow rectangular opening. Aside from the obvious physical challenges, she thinks somehow he might not appreciate the effort.

When the door suddenly opens, she pitches forward but catches herself before she can fall over.

"Gwen?"

"Oh, hey Viv," she says, straightening up. "I didn't think anyone was home!"

"It's just me. Have you seen Arthur? I can't get ahold of him." She looks upset.

Gwen frowns. "No, I'm sorry. Have you tried ringing him?"

Vivian rolls her eyes and retreats into the apartment. Gwen hesitates before following her inside. "Of course I have," she says. "He's not answering. And neither is Merlin, and Freya's at work and—"

Her voice becomes increasingly fraught as she rambles, its pitch rising and echoing off the bare walls and wooden floors of Arthur's minimalist apartment.

Gwen makes a beeline for the bedroom.

Hanging up the mended suit jacket in his closet, she smiles when she sees one of his favorite shirts she gave him for Christmas years ago hanging there.

She slips her hand down the sleeve of his coat to straighten it out on the hanger and her fingers catch on the pocket. Dipping her hand in curiously, she fishes around, feeling nothing but a small remnant of something. Thinking it a crumb or other such nuisance, she pulls it out and looks at her hand.

The tiny silver sequin glimmers in the light reflected from his bedroom window, and for just a moment Gwen's breath stops. Her lips tug into a smile and she tucks the sequin neatly back into his pocket, feeling an incongruous sense of comfort at the tiny memento.

Back in the living room, Vivian's slumped on Arthur's sofa, massaging her forehead with one hand. "...when he's going to check in, and he says he will, but sometimes he doesn't and what good is saying so if you're not going to? It just makes it even more nerve-wracking when he suddenly disappears and _doesn't_ call! What am I suppos—"

Gwen sinks into the comfy armchair opposite, relaxing into the well-worn leather as Vivian continues to rant. She remembers when Uther passed the chair onto Arthur when he moved into his first place on his own, and the way Arthur covets it. It was a pain the in arse to get through the narrow doorway, but worth it if only for Arthur's irritation every time Merlin stole his spot.

"Vivian," she finally cuts in with a sigh, and the nervous blonde seems to remember she's in company.

"What?"

"When's the last time you saw him?" Gwen asks calmly.

"Early this morning, but—"

"How did he look?"

"He was fine," she says with a note of defensiveness. "We had breakfast together and he was fine. I mean, he seemed a little distracted but that's not—oh God, he's not in trouble, do you think? Like, financial trouble? Of course, I wouldn't care but Arth—"

"No, no, stop." Gwen holds out her hand, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath to clear her mind and restore her patience. "Okay," she sighs. "Arthur is a creature of habit. He's got whims, but they're fairly predictable. Did he mention anything about where he was going?"

"Well he was supposed to go to some work retreat thing but when I called his secretary she said he had the next two days off so—"

"Two days?" Gwen repeats, contemplating. "Hmm, well..." she says, sitting up suddenly as it occurs to her.

"What?"

"What's today's date?" Gwen asks briskly.

"Um, the twenty-second? No, wait, it's the twenty-third. Why? Did he have something planned?"

But Gwen's head is in her hands and she feels a wave of sympathy for Arthur.

She'd been away on the same day a year ago, though date's significance hadn't escaped her when she'd had the chance to glance at a calendar a few days later. With no internet or telephone connection, she could do little more than send positive thoughts to Arthur from half-way across the world, hoping they'd find him.

"Gwen?" Vivian prompts her after a moment of quiet has passed. "You're scaring me."

"It's the anniversary." Her voice is quiet, and her heart constricts as she imagines what Arthur's feeling now.

"Of what?" she asks dimly.

Gwen sighs. "Igraine's death. God, it must be...what? Seventeen years? No..."

"Oh," Vivian deflates as the realization hits her. "That's...his mother." She's silent for no more than a few seconds before she starts panicking again. "Oh my God, I'm a terrible girlfriend! Why didn't I know this? He's probably out drinking himself to death or maybe he's alone in a—"

"Merlin will be with him," Gwen says with certainty. "And he's not drinking; he's visiting her. He visits her every year. She's buried in a small village about four hours away."

"Oh, Gwen. But why didn't he tell me?" she says, sounding hurt.

Gwen moves and sits on the sofa beside Vivian, covering her hand with her own. "It's okay, he doesn't tell most people about it. It's not something he likes to share. Merlin was close friends with him at the time and helped him through it before, so he knows how to take care of him. Arthur just needs this day to reflect. Two days, I guess, since it's rather a drive."

"I didn't even...he never told me what happened," she whimpers.

"It was an aneurysm. She was driving him to practice when it happened. Arthur was nine. But don't be upset, he really doesn't like to talk about it."

" _You_ know about it," Vivian shoots back reflexively, and it's difficult to miss the hint of accusation in her voice.

Gwen just opens her mouth, realizing too late that she has no response at the ready.

"I'm sorry," Vivian says after a beat. "It's not your fault. I just—oh, God!" She cries out again as she flops over and stares at the ceiling. "I _am_ a horrible girlfriend!"

"No, you're not. It just takes a long time for Arthur to share certain parts of himself with others. I'm sure he just didn't want you to worry over him."

Poor Vivian is a heap, curled on Arthur's couch.

"Hey," Gwen says. "Come on, let's get you home. We can have a girls night together."

"Really?" she sniffs.

Gwen smiles. "Yeah, it'll be fun. Maybe Freya can join us when she gets off work."

Historically, she hasn't spent much time alone with Vivian since she was introduced to their friends as Arthur's new girlfriend, but she suspects there's more to the girl for her to learn about. And if she was really going to be a fixture in Arthur's life, well then they would have to find some common ground.

**⚓**

A phone call the next evening alleviates her own worries.

"How are you holding up?" she asks him. "Are you back at your place with Vivian?"

"I'm here but I told her to stay at her place tonight."

Gwen nods to herself. "She was worried about you."

"I know," he sighs, and she can hear in his voice the mental and emotional toll that the last few days have taken on him. She guesses he probably looks like shit, and wishes she can hold him and stroke his hair until he falls asleep, like she did once when they were younger and he first told her about his mother. Granted, he had been quite drunk at the time.

Still, something needed to be said.

"You can't do that to her, Arthur. You don't have to tell her everything—she, um, knows the basics—but you can at least tell her you need the day to yourself. She was about to call the police and launch an investigation."

He huffs a laugh, though it is more exhaustion than amusement. "I should've thought as much."

"I think she really loves you," Gwen says quietly. _I think I do too_ , she chooses not to add.

"I think maybe she does, too," he replies, his tone is a little lighter.

They're silent for a while and then suddenly he's asking her a question about some kind of berry she's never heard of.

"A _what_?" she asks, not sure whether to laugh or worry about the change of topic.

"A _whortle_ berry. It's like...kind of like a blueberry, I guess. Maybe it's a type of blueberry. I don't know."

"Arthur, what are you—?"

"She used to make pies with them," he explains, and Gwen knows he's not talking about Vivian anymore.

He sounds wistful. She settles back against her pillows, smiling a little at nothing as Arthur goes on to describe one of his favorite childhood memories.

Soon enough they're both laughing, and Gwen wipes the moisture from the corners of her eyes and listens with interest as Arthur recounts the random anecdotes he remembers. Some of them she's heard before, but she revels in the warmth and fondness in his voice as he retells them for her.

It's two hours before they say goodnight, and Gwen leans to turn off her bedside lamp and settle in beneath her covers.

 _He's a good man_ , she whispers into the night, though she's not sure who's listening. _You brought a good man into this world, and he is well-loved._


	5. Chapter 5

"You know, you could at least pretend you're here to help me out," Gwen says, hands on her hips.

A lazy "Huh?" is all the response she gets from Arthur and Merlin, sprawled out in her living room after taking control of her telly.

Desperate to catch the last half of a match after a blackout in Arthur's neighborhood, they'd eagerly agreed to come by and troubleshoot her broken refrigerator as soon as she'd sent out a text pleading for help.

"Nevermind," she shakes her head and disappears into the kitchen.

Gwaine won't be coming by for another couple of hours at least, and she needs some way to salvage her food before it spoils.

Unfortunately, staring at the fridge proves not to be the magical solution.

She considers opening it to tinker with the setting, but chickens out when she realizes she'll most likely just waste the remaining cool air.

Frustrated, she traipses back into the living room and collapses on the sofa between the boys with her arms crossed.

Twenty minutes left of the match.

_Let's_ _hope the milk isn't counting,_ she thinks, making a mental note to invest in an ice chest when she's got some extra cash.

Still, it proves a challenge not to get sucked in when her friends are so enthralled.

Arthur curses at the telly when a player goes down with an injury and the clock marches on.

She scoots to the edge of her seat, unconsciously mirroring their poses.

A question occurs to her and she parts her lips to ask, but after sneaking a glance at Arthur she thinks it's probably not the best time.

There's an ominous build up of play by the opposition, and before she knows it she's chewing on her nails.

Then she feels the pressure of a hand on her knee, fingers flexing as a volley soars toward the box in slow motion.

The heat of his touch sears up her thigh and she swallows, her attention divided.

There is hardly time to dissect the conflict of impulses; Arthur snatches his hand back as the ball connects with the goal post and he's up out of his seat, applauding the botched attempt.

Both Merlin and Arthur heave sighs of relief as their side regains possession.

Gwen sags back against the cushions, wondering how anyone could be masochistic enough to watch such displays on a regular basis. Eighteen minutes of uninformed spectating and she feels drained already.

When the match finally ends in a scoreless draw, the boys look like they've run a marathon each.

"Bollocks," Merlin says, looking at his watch. "I've got to get back before five. Freya left her keys at home this morning. Can you give me a lift?"

Arthur agrees, fishing his keys out of the bowl on her end table.

" _Really?_ " Gwen raises her eyebrows.

She's met with blank stares until it finally dawns on Arthur's face.

"Oh, you were having a problem with your toilet, right?"

"Fridge," she says flatly.

"Huh," he thinks for a moment. "Is it plugged in?"

"No, Arthur. I asked you to come over here to check if my fridge is _plugged in_. You know, because I've never used an appliance before."

" _Alright_. Just an innocent question. Look, let me drop Merlin off and I'll swing by and pick up a few tools on my way back. Okay?"

His hands come to her shoulders and he looks down into her face, jostling her gently as if she's a magic eight ball that he can finagle into cheerfulness again.

"Fine. But bring an ice chest with you too, and make it snappy," she orders, unable to resist cracking a smile.

He smiles back and grabs his jumper. "You heard the woman," he shoves Merlin toward the door.

**⚓**

"That was quick," Gwen calls out when she hears the door open a half hour later. She's back to lounging on the sofa, eyes glued to the decorating magazine she's been flagging and marking up.

"Hmm?" comes an unexpected voice from behind the couch, followed by the rough brush of a kiss on her cheek and a small weight dropped on her lap.

"Gwaine...? What's—?" She turns around in surprise, but he's already come around the side of the couch and he's prodding her to scoot over so he can fit beside her.

"Happy six months." He grins, readjusting so her legs rest on his lap.

Her jaw drops and she looks at him over her reading glasses, turning the small box over in her hands.

After a weighty beat of silence, he barks out a laugh. "You forgot!"

"I'm sorry!" she smacks her palm to her head. "I can't believe _you_ remembered!"

"Aww, I didn't know you thought so highly of me, Freckles," he teases, sneaking his hand under her slouchy shirt to tickle her stomach.

Gwen shrieks, squirming on his lap. "Okay! Enough punishment. What's a six months gift supposed to be, anyway? Plastic?"

He snorts. "Sod it if I know. Here," he presses the box back into her hands. "Just open it."

She gives him a suspicious look before lifting her glasses to rest on top of her head and delicately untying the ribbon.

Lifting the lid, she reveals a tiny silver wishbone necklace nestled in a bed of cotton.

She can't help the sharp intake of breath when she sees it.

"It was my mother's," he says with a measure of contained excitement, watching her lift it out of the box and lay it against her palm for a closer look.

Her head jerks up at this new information.

"No, don't look at me like that," he chuckles. "She's got millions of necklaces. This one just reminded me of you."

" _Gwaine_ ," she frowns. "This is so sweet."

"It's not a big deal," he smiles as he takes it from her hands to help fix the clasp behind her neck. "I just thought you might like it."

Gwen leans back so she can hold his face with her hands. "Thank you."

Like always, his eyes are playful and kind.

"You're welcome, Freckles," he pecks her lips, his hand coming to support her hip so she doesn't slide off the cushion.

She gets distracted as a surge of affection rises.

"Now really, what'd you get for me?" he mumbles eventually.

Laughing against his mouth, she continues to kiss him. "Umm...What would you say to...a pizza?"

"A _pizza_?" he gasps, astonished. "Oh, what did I do to deserve..." he grips her tight to lift her up and she squeals as he starts carrying her around the couch. "This amazing..." he kisses her again, "wonderful..."

Gwen is giggling when he pauses to set her bum on the back of the sofa to adjust his hold.

"Hang on," he mutters, giving up on making it to the bedroom. "I think this'll do just fine."

She throws her head back with laughter, her reading glasses tumbling onto the sofa as he pretends to bite at her neck.

The door opens, bathing the room in bright daylight as Arthur walks in carrying something large in his arms. His footsteps halt when he sees them.

Both their heads turn at once, Gwaine still grinning and Gwen's smile slowly slipping.

"Uh," Arthur looks toward the fireplace with sudden interest. "Sorry. I didn't realize...Um, I'll just call you later, Gwen?"

He doesn't wait for a response, but Gwen calls after him before he can leave.

"Could you...er...leave the ice chest?"

"Oh, right," he says to the floor, setting it down near the entry. "Uh, bye!"

Gwaine snickers into her shoulder as the door closes and Gwen smacks his chest.

"It's not funny!"

"What does he think we get up to, anyway?"

Gwen slithers out of his grasp and back onto her feet to fetch the chest and bag of ice by the door. "He was going to help me with something before you came."

"But I haven't come yet."

She throws him an unappreciative look.

"Alright, bad joke. What were you working on?"

"Do you know anything about fridges?"

"They...er...have food in them?"

"Very clever." Her eyes narrow as she steps over the fallen cushions. "Glad I didn't wait for you to come by."

"Well you've got it sorted now, haven't you? How about that pizza, then?"

With a sigh, Gwen reaches for the phone to call in an order. "Go and shower, will you?"

"No olives!" Gwaine reminds her before shutting the bathroom door.

"Happy six months to you, too!" she shouts back before the line picks up.

**⚓**

There's yet another surprise visit forty-five minutes later. It wasn't the pizza, which had already been delivered, but rather an overweight, balding gentleman with glasses.

"Um...can I help you?" Gwen says at the door.

"Gwen Smith?"

"Yes...?"

"I was sent here to check on your fridge."

"What? Who sent you?"

"Was there a mistake?" he raises his brows, unamused, and scrutinizes the numbers on her door.

"No, my fridge is broken but—"

"Well then, I'll see what I can do."

Puzzled, she allows him inside and leads him to the kitchen.

On the one hand, she's happy to have a professional opinion so quick. On the other, her palms are getting clammy just thinking about the service fee.

The man pokes around the appliance and tosses out some jargon she doesn't understand.

Then he digs in his bag for a tool and returns to it.

Gwaine emerges from the bedroom with a bewildered frown. "You call an emergency service or something?"

"No...You mean you didn't?" Gwen frowns. "He just...showed up."

He laughs. "That's good customer service. Anticipating your problems. Maybe it had a recall and they sent him out?"

"Within hours of malfunctioning? I doubt it."

The man has been keeping to himself as he works, but now he stands up to address her, pushing his glasses back up the narrow bridge of his nose.

"It's going to be a while," he says matter-of-factly. "I can fix it now or come back at a different time."

She debates shortly before shaking her head. "If you can fix it now that would be great."

She'll have to figure out a payment solution. Maybe they'd let her pay in installments.

"Well, so much for a romantic night in," she sighs as Gwaine turns the telly back on, tossing him a raspberry ice lolly that won't fit in the cooler.

"You don't think this is romantic?" he leans back to glance toward the kitchen where the man is on his hands and knees, reaching to scratch his backside with a wrench.

She snorts. Her own knee itches and she scratches at it callously, banishing the reminder of Arthur's touch from earlier. "I really should go to bed early, anyway. We've got a meeting first thing tomorrow at work."

"I can stay up if you want," he offers.

She starts to protest, but finds she doesn't have the energy. "Would you mind terribly? I feel like I haven't slept in ages."

"No problem," he kisses her hand. "Raincheck."

She gives him a regretful smile. "Oh, can you tell him to leave the bill and I'll send in a check?"

"Will do," he says, patting her bum when she passes him on the way to her bedroom.

In the sanctuary of her bedroom, the delicate chain around her neck feels foreign and strangely heavy. She tucks the pendant under her shirt and lays her head down, waiting for sleep to find her.

**⚓**

The next morning she's flitting around her apartment to make sure she's hasn't forgotten anything. She discovers her checkbook sitting on top of her dresser, of all places, and tucks it into her purse before she can forget.

"Gwaine, where'd that invoice end up?" she pulls the toothbrush out of her mouth momentarily to ask.

He mumbles something into his pillow.

"What?"

"...left it...counter..."

She snorts, betting he's already half asleep again as she rinses her toothbrush and checks her face in the mirror.

Satisfied, she totes her purse into the kitchen and sets it next to the folded paperwork while she grabs a banana from her fruit basket.

She has a new appreciation for the steady hum issuing from the fridge, finding it nice and cool when she opens it. Gwaine has stuffed the entire icebox in the fridge as opposed to unpacking it, but there's no surprise there.

Checkbook open and pen resting between her lips, she unfolds the invoice and searches for the amount.

Just like her father, the repairman has the spidery handwriting of an engineer; the invoice details the parts he replaced and the labor required, along with a shocking string of zeroes.

But it's the familiar messy hand on the scrap of paper that flutters out that catches her eye.

_It's a few weeks early, but Happy Birthday Guinevere._

_x A_

She gasps at the balance: £0.00. The last four digits of a check number are notated neatly beneath.

Biting her lip in disbelief, she scans the words half a dozen times before finally folding the paper back up and tucking it in her purse.

Of course, the bastard had penned it as a birthday gift knowing she couldn't refuse.

She'd expected the bill to be nothing short of astronomical, especially considering the after hours service appointment.

Eyes focused on nothing, she leans against the sink for a few quiet minutes before extracting her mobile and opening a new message.

_I can't believe..._ she begins to type, then deletes it.

She tries a few other words that don't quite work before finally settling for simplicity.

_Thank you, Arthur._

The status bar churns and the text bubble rises on her screen. She waits for the check mark confirming it's been delivered before locking her phone and slipping it in her pocket.

"Fridge is working," she calls down the hall.

No response.

"I'll see you later. Don't forget to lock the door."

She receives a faint grunt in reply.

When she gets off the tube a few blocks from her office her phone rumbles and she pulls it out to find a text from Arthur.

_Whatever for?_

Rolling her eyes, she slips it back in her pocket and makes her way down the crowded pavement, fighting a foolish grin that's attracting strange looks.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes more than a few weeks to express her gratitude. Arthur is almost impossible to pin down for a lunch date, citing problems at work and out-of-town engagements, but a month and a half later she finally persuades him to meet up at the sandwich shop near her office.

It's close to Valentine's Day, a fact she's been only vaguely aware of until she steps into the eatery and is promptly taken aback by the excess of heart-shaped decorations.

Arthur sits in a cozy booth with a menu in his hands, and when he sees her he raises an eyebrow to commend her choice.

She hopes her own expression conveys innocence as she sinks into the seat across from him.

There's a chain of paper hearts dangling between them, and Arthur swats at it so he can see her, but it swings back like a pendulum.

He almost succeeds in knocking over the tall, delicate vase that holds a single red rose in the middle of the table.

"I didn't know it would be like this," she says. "It's not even Valentine's Day yet!"

It takes an effort not to cover her face.

He laughs, unperturbed, and scans the menu again. "Could have fooled me."

Spotting Gwen's arrival, a waitress floats over to take their drink orders.

Gwen asks for ice water, and Arthur orders a chocolate milkshake.

It's only in moments like this she's reminded of that particular quality he has (and Gwaine has too, now that she thinks of it) that sometimes makes her feel like an uptight adult.

She starts to regret her choice after the waitress takes her leave.

"Cheer up. You know I'll share if you just ask," his lips quirk into a smile. "You are paying, after all."

"What's that I hear? A Pendragon, offering to _share_?"

The minute movement of his jaw is all the satisfaction he gives her before he regains his composure. "I've never heard of such a thing."

"That's what I thought." She clears her throat and flicks her eyes around, reviewing the decor. "So... Got any plans?"

She can't say for sure, but she may have pulled off nonchalance.

Although it goes against her instincts, Gwen learned over the course of several months that knowing about Arthur and Vivian's plans is infinitely preferable to imagining all the possibilities.

Not that she spends her time thinking about them, of course.

Well, not _much_ time.

"I don't know, I think Viv wants us to visit her parents this weekend," he busies himself folding his napkin. Under the table, he shifts his legs and the tip of his shoe bumps hers.

"For Valentine's Day? That sounds...fun. Have you met them yet?"

"Once or twice. They're alright; a little overbearing. Our fathers used to work together, which is how we were introduced. She's...kind of a Daddy's girl, you know?"

"You don't say." Gwen's mouth twitches with ill-disguised amusement.

Vivian's propensity to get what she wants is well-respected in their group; mostly no one bothers to go against her when it's a matter of little consequence. _  
_

Arthur is cheated out of a retort when his milkshake arrives and they relate their lunch orders.

Instead, he watches Gwen pine with a devilish grin as he sinks his spoon into the whipped topping.

When she's suffered long enough (about thirty seconds, as it happens), he lets her have a taste.

The waitress returns a few minutes later with their orders: a turkey sandwich for Arthur, and for Gwen her usual salad.

"What about you, then? Gwaine have a romantic evening planned?" he asks between bites, staring at the sandwich in his hands.

She reaches across to nab one of the pickles he's left on the side of his plate for her—a longstanding habit he probably doesn't even realize anymore.

"Gwaine doesn't believe in Valentine's Day, and I'm not sure I do either."

"What's there to believe in? You buy each other flowers and chocolates, and that's that."

"It's contrived though, isn't it? Everyone else pressuring you to express your feelings?"

He considers for a moment, studying her face before turning his attention back to his plate. "Not if you really love someone," he shrugs. "I mean, some people enjoy it."

It was a fair point that she couldn't disagree with.

But the conversation is uncomfortably evocative.

Being alone with Arthur has become such a rarity that she finds herself savoring every moment, memorizing his expressions and the crinkle of his eyes when he laughs.

If that's what love is, she imagines she'd be more than happy to take part in Valentine's Day festivities with him, if he were amenable.

Those nettlesome feelings—the ones that make themselves known when her gaze lingers a moment too long on the long sweep of his lashes, or the way he twists the ring on his thumb when he's thinking—hover ever closer to the surface, threatening to spill over.

She's compelled to avert her eyes when they meets his, her heart inexplicably pounding.

"I guess," Gwen mutters, setting her fork down. She wipes her mouth with her napkin and makes another survey of the room, realizing they might just be the only non-couple in attendance. "Do you think she's going to bring our check?"

Arthur doesn't seem bothered. "You haven't finished yet."

"I'm just not very hungry."

"You've been eyeing my milkshake this entire time," he chuckles. "And besides, meeting for lunch was your idea."

"I just wanted to thank you for what you did. And you've made it difficult enough."

He shakes his head. "I told you there's no need."

"Arthur, there's _every_ need. You knew I didn't have the money—"

"Would you like anything else? Some dessert, perhaps?"

The smiling waitress reappears, as if sensing a disturbance in the otherwise cheerful atmosphere.

"Um, no thank you," Gwen replies. "If we could just have the bill, that would be wonderful."

"Of course. You can settle up at the register when you're ready. No rush," she says, placing their ticket face down on the table. "Cheers."

Gwen stares at the bill, but it may as well be in Greek.

"Um..." she shakes her head, handing it to Arthur. "I left my glasses at the office."

"Eighteen," he reads to her. "Are you sure about this? I don't mind paying—"

She silences him with a look and inclines her head toward the counter. "Let's go. I want to get some coffee for the way back."

He makes a dramatic display of exasperation, then smiles and follows to step into the queue beside her.

When they reach the cashier with their ticket, Gwen has to slap Arthur's hand away from the basket of fresh-baked cookies by the register.

"You had a milkshake already. You're going to make yourself sick."

He shoots her a wounded look that turns into a pout, but he knows she's right.

"Are you two together?" the woman behind the counter asks.

"I'm sorry?" Gwen blinks.

It seems an oddly intrusive question to ask a customer.

"Together or separate?" the cashier clarifies.

" _Oh!_ Together, yes. That is, we're on the same bill. Can I please get a coffee to go, as well?"

"No problem," the woman punches the order into the register. "Can I interest you in our Valentine's Day offer? Café drinks are buy one get one free for couples this week."

"We're not—" Gwen starts, but Arthur cuts her off.

"Is that so?" he squeezes Gwen to his side and gives her the smile that makes her heart stutter. "Maybe I'll get something too then, Sweetheart."

The light blue eyes shine with humor and a bit of mischief, imploring her to play along.

"Uh... Well, yes," she answers the cashier, plastering on the best lovestruck expression she can conjure. It isn't difficult. "But my...husband doesn't care for coffee. Can we get tea or cocoa to go?"

Her cheeks feel hot as she digs in her purse for cash and sets in on the counter.

"Absolutely." But the woman doesn't take her money. She appears to be waiting for something.

After a few awkward moments of confusion, she coughs and lifts a pudgy hand to indicate the sign on the front of the register they'd failed to notice amid the sea of pink hearts.

Arthur's hand slides around Gwen's hip as he leans to read it.

_Valentine's Day Lovers Deal!_

_Bring your Sweetie and show us your love for two free café drinks with the purchase of any regular menu item during our Valentine's Week promotion._

"Um..." Gwen says, looking at Arthur and then the cashier with alarm. She wants to laugh after hearing the words coming from Arthur's mouth, but she's too shocked at present.

His expression is similarly nonplussed, but he seems to make up his mind quicker than she can react, and Arthur moves first.

His head dips toward her for a quick peck, but Gwen turns, so his lips accidentally graze her nose instead.

The blunder only elicits nervous laughter. It puts her at ease, and she almost forgets where they are.

"Wait," Arthur chuckles, placing a broad hand against her cheek to keep her face steady. His eyes fall to her lips as he leans in slower, and this time his mouth touches hers.

His lips are warm, commanding, and softer than she'd imagined. She feels it in the tips of her toes, and her heart nearly beats out of her chest.

It lasts only a moment, at most, but he seems to linger as if to make sure there is no mistake.

When he pulls away, satisfied, her lips tingle in protest and her head is swimming.

She's profoundly _un_ satisfied as a heady and immediate desire for more rises.

The cashier gives a high-pitched hum one might expect from a little girl who's discovered a puppy laying in a basket of daisies, and she proceeds to give Gwen her change.

"You make an adorable couple," she gushes. "Enjoy your Valentine's Day!"

"Thanks," Arthur smiles, tugging Gwen away to the pick up station.

"What...what the _hell_ was that about?" Gwen mutters to him when they're out of earshot. "They're making people kiss for discounts? Isn't that, like, discrimination against single people?"

Arthur snorts. "I don't see what the big deal is."

She's miffed by his cheerfulness. "I guess not, if anyone can get it just for kissing someone."

"Hey, you heard her," his eyes crinkle with humor. "We make a cute couple."

"A cute couple of con artists. Maybe we should go on the road with this."

"It's about time I took a leave of absence from work," he shrugs, stirring way too much sugar into his tea. "What d'you say, Bonnie?"

She winces. "You might want to work on your accent. And your technique, for that matter. I'm fairly sure it's common to kiss on the mouth in most cultures rather than the nose."

"Yeah, but I got it right in the end, didn't I?" he grins, elbowing her as she looks up from her coffee.

 _Did you ever,_ she thinks, curling her toes at the residual warmth that flares from the memory.

If she had denied them before, there's little she can say to herself now to disavow the feelings his kiss had roused.

Scoffing, she looks away because she's not sure she can look him in the eye again quite yet. "If you call that a kiss."

"What, not enough hair for you?"

"What?"

"Nevermind," he rolls his eyes.

Gwen checks the time on her phone, desperate for anything else to look that isn't Arthur and his annoying, soft lips.

He takes it as a cue to hold the door open for her, but they're stopped by someone calling his name.

A pretty brunette rises from her table near the exit and approaches them.

" _Arthur_?" she repeats. "I thought that was you."

Gwen isn't sure why, but there's something off about the woman's tone, though her face appears friendly enough.

"Sefa! Hi!" He looks suddenly uncomfortable, but remains composed. "What are you...uh, how are you?"

"Good," she offers, the conversation already painfully stilted as she glances between the two of them. "And you?"

"Um, fine. Sorry," Arthur gestures to Gwen. "This is my friend, Gwen. Gwen, Sefa."

"Nice to meet you," Gwen offers a smile, but Sefa's is dismissive.

"Yes, I saw you two," she turns back to Arthur. "Did you come for lunch?"

"Yes. Just catching up, you know."

"How nice," she replies, her eyes making an uncomfortable appraisal of Gwen's face.

There's a pause when it's clear there's little to say beyond whatever they're both thinking, and Arthur scratches at the back of his head.

"Well, we actually have to get back to work. It was nice seeing you."

"You too, Arthur," she says, watching as they show themselves out.

"Is she an ex I've never heard of?" Gwen asks once they're half a block away.

"Sefa? _God_ , no. She works with Vivian."

"Oh. Wait," Gwen stops in her tracks as the realization hits. "You don't think she—?"

"Saw us?" he raises a brow. "Judging by the way that went, I'd say so."

"Do you think she would say something to Vivian?"

"I don't know her well enough to say, honestly," Arthur sighs. "But it's not a big deal anyway, right?"

"Right," Gwen swallows as they continue walking toward her office. "We were just..."

"Having a laugh. Sefa doesn't realize we're just good mates."

"Yeah," she agrees with an empty chuckle, feeling her heart sink into oblivion. "Vivian would probably think it was funny."

Arthur's smile falters. "Still, on the off-chance—"

"Better to pretend it never happened," Gwen finishes for him. "Stick to our day jobs, eh?"

"You're probably right. And anyway, you and I... We'd be at each other's throats, wouldn't we?"

"Whatever you say, Clyde," she grins, shoving him sideways and making him chuckle.


	7. Chapter 7

It really wasn't her fault that she drank so much.

Not when they were celebrating Merlin and Freya's engagement, which had been such a long time coming.

It was definitely, _definitely_ the endless toasts and free rounds that came their way from friends, family, and well-wishing strangers with open tabs.

And if one or two came her way specifically, she nodded graciously and accepted as any kind person would do.

Except for the ones intercepted by Arthur. Gwen couldn't decide if he was insulting her tolerance or if he'd worked out a deal with Gwaine to ward off unwanted interest in his absence.

In either case, it wasn't the first time, and it wasn't likely to be the last.

But in the spirit of celebration, she shrugged off her annoyance and mentally filed it away between _Bloody Patronizing_ _Gits_ and _Things to Give Arthur/Gwaine a Piece of My Mind About_.

Maybe she would've been warm enough without Arthur's jacket over her shoulders as they bounced from one pub to the next, but she reasoned she was just doing the world a favor by allowing him to exhibit his toned arms and other things she was absolutely _not_ paying attention to.

_(Why did he have to wear white, anyway? And with the sleeves rolled to his elbows...)_

Nearly a month had passed since she felt Arthur's lips on hers, and yet she imagined she could feel the touch of them whenever she looked at him.

True to their agreement, they hadn't spoken of it since, and if Vivian had any inkling she did not make it known.

Gwen had begun to let the memory settle into the most private reaches of her mind, only to visit if all other sources of happiness deserted her.

Or alternately, to visit every time his lips formed her name, curled into a smile, or sipped from his drink; in short, to taunt her in moments of most hideous inconvenience.

But desire demands to be confronted, for good or ill, and Gwen found the utter bliss shared between her newly engaged mates was dually inspiring and discomfiting.

She was not usually the jealous sort (so she hoped), but inevitably Merlin and Freya's quiet, enduring devotion to one another invited comparisons with Gwen's own love life.

Her own personal comparisons, of course, but also the unsubtle, unsolicited opinions of others.

Others with jabbing elbows, vulgar raised brows, and untoward questions such as, "Always the bridesmaid, eh?" or "Do you think Gwaine's the marrying type?" or her personal favorite, "Have you considered having children before it's too late?"

They were the sorts of questions undeserving of anything but her least impressed smile.

If she had any inclination, she might have answered that things were more or less the same as they'd always been. How she thought she wanted them to be: reliable, comfortable, and generally predictable in the best possible way.

She could rely on Gwaine for as long as he was content, and Arthur...

It was becoming increasingly apparent that she would have to accept his place in her life for what it was.

The fact that he would always be in her life should have been a comfort; his friendship would likely endure beyond any of her romantic entanglements. He had been there to help clean up the mess after Lance, and she'd no doubt he would be the first to comfort her in the event that Gwaine moved on.

Like so many other times, Gwen thought if she could only remind herself of how much Arthur meant, then maybe she _wouldn't_ fantasize about how it could be at the risk of throwing it all away.

At the very least, it prevented her taking his friendship for granted.

She was lucky that as things stood there were plenty of distractions to keep her from thinking about that kiss.

**⚓**

The night's festivities had done the trick, and above all, she was happy for her friends.

So happy that she succeeded in drinking herself into a giddy stupor trying to keep up with them.

Whatever the sequence of events, she had got herself into bed one way or another. At least, that's what the evidence suggests when she wakes the next morning.

If she thinks hard enough, she remembers a cab ride home with someone.

Not Gwaine—he was out of the country for work, and certainly not Vivian, who had stayed home sick that night.

Upon further investigation, she determines it must have been a certain fair-haired prat that's once again sprawled over her couch as if he's got a standing reservation.

"Good morning," she drawls, voice low and slightly hoarse.

"Oh God, is it?" he mumbles into the cushions, sitting up. "Mmm," he stretches, looking her over. "You look like you're ready to keep going."

His flattened hair and lopsided grin are almost charming enough to distract from mild nausea, but Gwen feels an odd sense of accomplishment in feigning indifference.

"Why waste an outfit?" She folds her legs to sit next to him, cradling a mug of coffee.

"Indeed. I think you've got good use out of that one, though the shoes gave you a spot of trouble."

"Huh?" Following his glance, she discovers her heels, scuffed up and sorry-looking where they had fallen off near the front door. "Jesus, how did I get myself into bed?"

Her derisive huff turns to genuine wonder as she watches Arthur silently scratching the back of his head.

"...or did I?" she pronounces slowly, with an air of suspicion.

"You weren't too coherent. I guess I may have carried you in there."

"Oh, that must have been charming," she snorts, leaning back. "I suppose I passed out and drooled all over your sleeve."

"No, you... You don't remember?"

Something flickers over his expression that gives her pause.

"Not really. Why? Don't tell me I got sick on you."

"No," he shakes his head with a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Nothing like that."

"Thank God. Then what was it?"

He regards her for a moment before stirring to get off the couch and fasten his watch around his wrist. "Nothing, you just mumbled a bit and went to sleep after a while. Is it really ten thirty? I should probably go. You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine. Nothing a good old-fashioned hangover cure won't fix. Go, tend to the sick."

With a cough and a nod, he flashes her a parting smile before letting himself out.

His behavior is unusual, but she figures he must feel guilty for staying away from Vivian while she's home being miserably sick.

For most of the couples she knows, it's a fact of life that if one becomes ill, the other is in for the ride as well.

Arthur appears fine, but he's probably coming down with something. It helps that he and Vivian don't yet share an apartment, but they spend enough time together that it seems inevitable.

Gwen briefly considers bringing something by for them, but the idea leaves an uneasiness in her stomach as she imagines seeing the two of them bed-bound together.

No, perhaps she'll have Merlin deliver it instead.

After a rejuvenating shower, she dresses and gathers her things for a trip to the market, deciding a little productivity will be just the thing to keep the nauseous headache from overpowering her.

When she returns, she takes her time and enjoys cooking in peaceful silence, assembling a hearty soup that will last them at least a week with a small portion set aside for herself.

Then she sets it to simmer for a couple of hours while she lounges and watches telly on low volume, massaging her temples.

It isn't long before lack of sleep catches up with her and she checks the clock, grateful it's late enough that she can reasonably go to bed. If Gwaine were there, he'd probably call her a pensioner.

He does text her to say he'll be home tomorrow evening, and she's glad to have the time to recover.

She misses sleeping beside him, especially the extra warmth he provides when she insists on leaving the window open.

Realizing she'd never made up the bed, she summons the last of her energy to straighten out the sheets, duvet and pillow.

A dark garment flutters out from between the sheets as she fluffs the linens, and Gwen plucks it up with interest.

_Arthur's jacket?_

Balancing on the bed, she puzzles over it before unconsciously lifting it to her nose and closing her eyes.

_Definitely Arthur's. Why does he have to smell so good?_

She's certain he doesn't even try.

She allows herself to continue holding it as she flops over and slips beneath the covers, cradling it to her chest to breathe in the familiar and comforting scent.

Arthur's smile flashes in her mind, his eyes playful and gleaming as he teases her. She thinks about how strange he'd acted that morning when she asked him about the night before.

She'd seen that very look in his eyes, just before they'd turned stormy and solemn.

And then it strikes her as she plays with the sleeve of his jacket. The fog over her memory dissipates as if burned away by a late morning sun.

_"There we go," he groans as he drops her gently on the bed. She giggles when it bounces, her body rolling toward him as his knee depresses the mattress._

_"I'm not tired yet," she complains, and his phantom laughter echoes in the darkness as her eyes adjust._

_"Well you will be soon enough. It's very late," he strokes the hair that's fallen in her eyes aside and moves to stand back up._

_"You should stay," she blurts suddenly._

_He looks up and then back at her with a sigh. "You're probably right. I don't fancy waiting in the cold for a cab ride home this time of night. I'll take the couch."_

_"Stay," she repeats, catching his sleeve. "Can you stay right here? Just for a while?"_

She wishes she could have seen his face then, because it might have told her what he was really thinking.

What came next she remembers with a pang of irritation at herself for being too inebriated to appreciate, but perhaps she wouldn't have asked him in the first place if she hadn't been.

Because Arthur had somehow agreed, and by some method or other had come to rest beside her, a tentative arm wrapped around her, anchoring her close to him.

She must have fallen asleep quickly after that, but the sensation of his body molded to hers haunts her, and she wonders if it was real.

Judging from his reaction that morning, she might never find out.

**⚓**

Later that week, Gwen's almost finished packing the last of her boxes when she gets the text from Merlin.

_Did you hear about Arthur and Vivian?_

Her heart leaps into her throat, hammering with sudden and thunderous industry.

Images come unbidden, parading across her mind before she can halt them: an engagement party, more elaborate than Merlin and Freya's but less so than Morgana's ball; the rare smile of approval on Uther's dour features; Vivian in a classic white dress, a smiling Arthur waiting for her at the altar; the two of them sitting for a family portrait with their perfect blonde children.

It's all she can do to stop them trampling the fragile bud of hope she'd kept sheltered in that small, secret place.

Her thumbs hover over the keys, useless. She's not sure she wants to know what's happened.

But Merlin doesn't wait for her to reply.

_They broke up, Gwen._

She sits on her mattress, its bedding recently stripped and neatly folded into one of the boxes stacked around her room.

The screen stares back at her, unblinking, and after a while the words don't make sense anymore.

So she lies down on her side, shutting her eyes and drawing her knees up.

This is how Gwaine finds her when the light from her window has faded, calling her name as he enters the unfurnished flat. When he sees her he falls silent and hovers in the doorway for a while before sinking onto the bed behind her.

"You heard, then," he murmurs.

She says nothing.

In a familiar gesture, he reaches over to stroke the hair away from her temple, then leans to place a kiss there.

It's too rough and scratchy, and his lips aren't the right softness, and she hates herself a little more for thinking it's not good enough.

The mattress shifts when he gets up, and after a few minutes she hears the door close quietly.

She drifts to sleep in the silence that follows.


	8. Chapter 8

"What are you doing here?" Gwaine asks when she uses her key to let herself into his flat.

_Their flat, now._

That concept will take some getting used to.

Studying her feet, Gwen tucks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "I figured we should talk. I-I'm sorry about before. I was just—"

Gwaine just stares as she rambles, then takes her into a hug.

"It's alright, Gwen, I understand," he murmurs against her neck. "Took me by surprise as well."

Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt as she returns his embrace; her cheek rests on his shoulder, solid and reassuring as ever.

Comforted by his warm timbre and the faint scent of sweat and dust, she breathes a shaky sigh.

"I've still got a few things to pack but I thought we could start—"

"Gwen," he says softly, repeating himself when she continues to mumble. "Gwen, Sweetheart."

"What?"

"We can't...we can't do this. We can't move in together." The tremor in his voice tells her it pains him to say it, but he knows it's the right thing.

Her lips purse, ready to question him, but it is merely a stubborn reflex.

_He's right._

She's horrified, and relieved.

They've been an immense comfort to each other, but it had always been temporary. Even if they had both found more in one another than they had been looking for.

Something within her slackens. "So this is it?"

He gives a small frown and she sees the same tenderness in his eyes before he pulls her to him again, resting his chin on her curls and threading his fingers through her hair. "You'll always have me, Freckles. You know that."

She closes her eyes against the gathering tears and smiles, her heart feeling sore but much lighter at his words.

She's surprised by the pang in her heart, but she feels a swell of gratitude for the man before her. For understanding her; for being the most wonderful friend and for giving her what she needed when she most needed it.

There is no urgency as they hold one another, but a dizzying sense that they are both about to relinquish a lifeline; to tread apart, for a time, in the solitary waters of the unknown.

Gwen can't tell which of them is clinging tighter, but she concentrates on drawing from his strength and heart, and willing him to take the same from her.

When they do part at length, he takes her face between his hands. "This is your chance," he says, his eyes imploring her. "You can't let that ungrateful prat get away now, you promise me?"

The tears spill over and she nods with a sad smile, placing her smaller hands over his eternally warm ones.

"Good girl." He presses a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead.

Sniffing, she wipes her eyes and drops a hand to her chest, stilling as she remembers the necklace.

"Don't... Gwen, keep it. Please," he murmurs, voice becoming slightly ragged. "You've given me more than you'll ever know. Besides," he clears his throat, dashing away a few tears of his own. "My mum's too fat to wear it anyway."

Laughter bubbles up despite everything, and her wet cheeks rise in a smile. She nods her assent, feeling a bit like a bobble head, though her nose still runs and her lashes stick with moisture.

"I'll have to meet her one day," she says.

"Oh, no, I should think not," Gwaine's lips quirk with rueful amusement. "She'd never forgive me for letting you go."

He hadn't meant to make her feel bad, but nonetheless Gwen cannot let it go unsaid.

"Thank you," she covers one of his hands with hers. He uncrosses his arms to let her take it, and they both watch as she strokes her thumbs over his skin. "For...for everything, Gwaine."

Fingers curling around hers, he raises her hands so that she meets his eyes again. She finds her gratitude returned as he kisses her knuckles and releases them.

When she's on her way out, Gwen hesitates at the threshold and utters his name.

Gwaine turns expectantly, a reflection of her own pain and relief.

"She doesn't know it yet, but you'll be good for her."

He offers a smile and she grins back at him before seeing herself out.

**⚓**

It takes her three weeks to work up the courage to go and find Arthur. She's not sure what she's waiting for.

Maybe she's waiting for him to come to her.

But he's only just broken up with Vivian, and who knows what is on his mind?

_Or in his heart..._

She can feel herself drifting; waiting for some inner direction to seize upon, but all she finds is uncertainty.

Unpacking her things becomes a meditative task. She takes the opportunity to reflect on the recent past and what, if anything, she should do next.

The answer is obvious, but part of her cowers behind a half-baked excuse about rash decisions.

After the first week, Merlin and Freya start popping up around every corner, sometimes together but more often separate. Freya drops by with an excuse about borrowing something or other, her clever eyes assessing the state of Gwen's apartment, which is in a grotesque state of metamorphosis.

_And Merlin._ Merlin alternates between bringing coffee and pastries to her work and "bumping" into her at the sandwich shop during her lunch breaks.

Gwen has an eerie suspicion she's being checked on.

Neither of them speak of Arthur, but he is so prominent in all of their thoughts, he may as well be standing between them.

Eventually she decides she'll make herself available to him, in any capacity that he needs. She thinks about calling or texting, but it seems better to see him before she'll know what to say.

When she goes by his apartment, she finds bundles of newspaper rolled up on the doormat.

"Where is he?" she asks Merlin finally.

The relief is plain in his tone. "He's gone home for a while, I think."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I told you what you needed to know. I wasn't sure what either of you would do about it."

"Maybe he should be alone," she says, doubt creeping in.

"Not from you, Gwen," Merlin says with a sureness that heartens her.

When they hang up, she's terrified but a firm resolve takes her over.

**⚓**

It's a two hour drive to the Pendragon estate, and Gwen's not used to doing it alone. It gives her time to think; to be nervous; to be determined.

There are few opportunities to turn around, but she only uses one of them to pull over and gather her courage again.

Part of her has always known there is safety in loving someone she can't have. She managed up until now to enjoy a quasi-relationship with Arthur without divulging her feelings and taking the most frightening risk of all.

It's that part that wonders why she can't continue, albeit in manageable torment, without taking that risk.

The damage is private and self-inflicted, and like an addiction, it will only continue as long as she lets it.

And who should care, so long as she keeps it to herself?

Except Gwaine wasn't exempt. She needs to respect that he'd endured his own struggle, and is likely still grappling with a similar conflict.

Had she chosen to commiserate with a lesser man, he might not have been so selfless to let her go.

Not that it would have stopped her.

Nonetheless, she finds the wound is much cleaner this way, and as her mother taught her, the fewer jagged edges, the easier the repair.

They'd found a measure of happiness together, that much she can't refute. Whether it might have lasted is moot, but she still finds herself uttering thanks for whatever they did have.

As her destination draws nearer, her musings bleed into worries about Arthur—about what could have happened since she'd last seen him.

What might he be feeling?

And why hadn't he come to her as he usually did?

Is she ready to comfort him at her own expense? To learn of his own heartache, or how he plans to win Vivian back?

The answer, unequivocally, is _yes_.

Because at worst—even if all the glances and touches and kisses-for-show held meaning only for her—he is still Arthur.

He will always be Arthur.

She pulls up beside Morgana's mini, surprised that everyone seems to be home.

"Oh, thank God, you're here," Morgana says cryptically when she crosses her path in the foyer.

"Um...is he here?"

"I think he's out back somewhere. He's been wandering a bit."

Gwen looks around, uncertain of what her next move will be.

She got herself here. That was meant to be the easy part.

"He'll be glad to see you." Morgana's tone is uncharacteristically soft. She takes Gwen's hand with her free one, the ice in her drink clinking together as she leads her barefoot through the house. "Come on."

When they reach the stone stairway in the backyard, Morgana stops. "Well, go on," she says simply. "It's about time."

Gwen looks from Morgana's smirk to the forest that abuts their estate.

It's nearly dusk, but she knows it won't be difficult to find him. There are perhaps two or three places he could be.

"Straight people," she hears Morgana mutter with a sigh behind her.

Gwen's timid feet descend the steps and take her down the familiar dirt pathway into the trees.

Her heart tells her where to go, and for once she lets it lead her.

Standing beneath the oldest and largest tree, she peers up at the old treehouse.

Once enchanting, the structure had suffered over the years and was probably no longer entirely safe.

Arthur had told her how his father built it for he and Morgana before Igraine died, and how it quickly became his favorite escape.

Later it turned into the perfect hideaway for mischievous teenagers, and though it had gone several years without maintenance, even Gwen had been up there a few times during their university days.

It's nearly a shambles now with half the roof missing; perhaps the perfect place for such a reckoning.

_Only one way_.

With a deep breath, she sets herself to climbing, and though it's been a while, she's not bad at it. She feels slightly like a child.

When she reaches the planks that serve as a ladder into the cramped dwelling, she hears a thump and a muffled curse.

" _I told you I'm_... Guin...Gwen? What are you doing...?"

She peers in the entrance to discover Arthur resting on his back, propped on his elbows with a dumbfounded look.

It's then she starts to wonder why she thought this was a good idea. But as his shock fades away and he looks at her with something akin to admiration, she knows this is where she's supposed to be.

"I'm...um," she makes a clumsy entrance, crawling in on her knees and trying to find a position to settle in. She decides to sit with her legs crossed next to his feet, and he pulls himself up slowly to sit, leaning against the opposite wall.

The space between them is slight, and his inescapable nearness almost distracts from her purpose.

"I don't know, exactly," she smiles with sudden shyness. Her heart has been pounding since the moment she saw him again.

But he seems pleased and maybe even relieved to see her. It reminds her of the bone-deep affection and trust she holds for him.

_Why had she waited so long?_

Shaking her head, she berates herself mentally. "Actually," she corrects before he can speak and she can lose her nerve. "Actually that's a lie. I'm here because...I love you, Arthur."

The words aired at last, she lets them hang between them, defenseless and unqualified.

Arthur is visibly stunned by the admission, his easy smile faltering.

It's enough to feel her heart begin to fracture, surrendering to the final blow that will surely reduce it to splinters.

She watches long enough to see the emotions flicker over his unguarded expression, changing too quickly to analyze. Nausea begins to clutch at her, but she fights it back.

The blood that rushes into her cheeks roars in her ears over the strained silence. Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she edges her eyes slowly back up to his face again.

As his limbs thaw, he climbs toward her, kneeling so he can look down into her eyes.

His gaze falls to her lap and he takes her hands in his. "You love me?" he asks finally, searching her eyes.

She's never been more certain, so she nods. Breathing becomes difficult, but his touch is somehow calming.

_He's just Arthur,_ she chants inwardly. _Arthur_...

"You want...to be with me?" he asks as if bracing himself.

Gwen nods again, her hands trembling in his until she feels his grip tighten.

"Guinevere," Arthur drops his head for a moment as he searches for words, and she holds her breath. "I've loved you longer than I've known what it means."

She gasps as his words sink in, feeling his graceful fingers twine with hers. The simple gesture sends warmth blooming beneath her skin and blood singing through her veins.

He shifts closer, testing, but never taking his eyes from hers.

For a moment they can do nothing but breathe the same air.

"I'm scared," she whispers, but in reality she can barely keep herself from shaking with joy.

"Me too," he breathes, tucking the curls behind her ear to keep her from hiding. "Guinevere..."

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he lifts a hand to lay against her cheek, just as he had before, but this time she lets herself lean into his palm.

His touch holds a new meaning that makes her shiver.

She stills, anticipating the rousing caress of his lips once more, and the heat between them makes her dizzy. But before his lips reach hers, she stops him advancing.

"It's my turn, isn't it?" she asks without a care for how her voice cracks.

She doesn't wait for his response, dropping her eyes to his mouth and raising herself to kiss him.

Arthur's surprise is short-lived; his chest heaves beneath her palm where she places it to steady herself, and his lips respond with undisguised eagerness.

She slides her palms up his chest and over his shoulders to let her fingers wander between the soft strands of his hair.

He tilts his head, skimming his hands down her back before settling at her hips. His touch is light; restrained, as if he's not entirely sure of himself.

_Yet._

Gwen unconsciously presses herself closer, wanting to feel the confident hold of his hands gripping her with intent, and she's immediately rewarded with a groan as he takes her top lip between his, sucking gently.

She feels everything so acutely, so profoundly, that she can't hold back a small whimper.

It's everything she wanted after he kissed her in the sandwich shop, and still she needs more.

She melts backward and Arthur follows, leaning over her as his hands migrate to her waist and he clutches her tighter at last, bestowing kiss upon sensual kiss.

" _Oof,_ " she squeaks as she bumps her head.

"Ah, are you okay?" he mumbles in a daze, pulling back to regard her with eyes dark and filled with concern. A gentler hand cradles the back of her head.

"Yes," she whispers, already forgetting about the dull throb. It can hardly compete with the rising swell of desire and need that she's denied for too long.

The need that makes her body tighten and pulse with heat, craving his weight against her; that makes her lips and fingers itch to map out his body so that familiarity battles with startling novelty.

She can't tear her eyes from his lips, slightly parted, so she tugs him forward by his shirt and captures them with hers, swiping her tongue hungrily over his bottom lip.

_Oh, God, but he tastes good._

Arthur inhales sharply and dips his tongue into her mouth, growing bolder every moment. The hand cushioning her head from the wooden beam shifts as his fingers weave into her hair.

Then his fingertips are gliding down the side of her neck in a trail of fire.

Her consciousness is reduced to sighs and hands shifting and flexing over clothing; to Arthur's confident tongue sliding and stroking against hers, exploring her mouth; to his touch, searing into her skin despite the layers; and to the unimaginably delightful solidness of him pressing ever closer.

Another whimper escapes at the heat of his tongue on her neck, and the blushing skin where she rucks up his shirt and slips a hand beneath.

_"Guinevere,"_ he gasps and pulls back to regard her just as she opens her eyes, but it's only a second before they crash together again, this time hungrier and greedier, making up for lost time.

Somewhere, in the deep and lonely well of her mind where all other thoughts have been banished, a tiny exchange is whispered:

_Things can never be the same_ , they lament,

and

_Thank God for that,_ they answer.


End file.
